Fall Before You Fly
by SomethingAboutAllison
Summary: It's not any secret that Ally Dawson is scared to fall in love. After her marriage fails, the stubborn music store owner is feeling a little lost. But a late-night encounter with a certain charming blonde is about to teach her that she needs to fall before she flies.
1. Don't Call Me 'Hon'

A/N: Well shit.

I genuinely don't know how the hell this happened. This was supposed to be a  
short, less than 1k word one-shot, but it got a bit out of hand...I have 2.6k words so far. Oops.

Probably gonna be five or six chapters, but who knows.

Also, thank you to those of you who helped me name this! Rossismylife gave me the idea for the main title, and I used the ideas of butterflysecrets and ausllylover2345 to get the chapter title. Thanks guys...enjoy! :)

* * *

I was wrong.

It's not even so much that I was wrong. It's that he was right.

I'm staggering around Piggly Wiggly at 9 o'clock at night, trying to get  
groceries after work. Shit. I really should've gone before work. But there's  
nothing I can do now except throw my feet forward in search of canned peaches.

Dallas was right. I remember the night like it was yesterday, even though it  
was almost a year ago. My mind wanders back to the words he spat in my face the  
night he left for good: _'You're going to fall apart without me.'_ And I  
have finally reached that stage of breaking.

Too stubborn to get a basket, I'm balancing an entire week of groceries,  
cradled in my arms and dangling from thin, ivory fingers. I have a bag of  
bananas, a loaf of bread, a can to tomato sauce, a jar of Nutella, a box of  
cereal, and a half-gallon of orange juice wrapped carefully and methodically in  
my arms.

"Need some help?"

I spin around to see a tall, attractive blonde man talking to me.

"Excuse me?" I ask. I would put my hand on my hip for effect, but my  
hands are full of groceries that I can't afford.

The blonde looks down and does this kind of swaying walk before looking up at  
me with sparkling eyes and an adorable crooked smile. God, he's attractive.

"I said...do you need some help with that?" I notice that he's  
swinging an empty grocery basket around his finger. Almost teasingly.

"Look, I just...I'm just trying to pick up a few things, and I don't need  
you-"

A box of cereal falls to the ground.

"Really?" the blonde asks, "are you sure you couldn't use  
this?" The basket swings around his strong hand as he leans up against a  
freezer door, looking shockingly cool.

"Really," I reply sharply, struggling to pick up the cereal box  
without dropping everything else I'm carrying, "I don't need a-"

A can of tomato sauce.

"Look, hon-"

"Don't call me hon-"

"-I'm just trying to help out a lady in distress here."

I exhale and attempt to pick up the dropped objects. "I'm not in  
distress," I protest.

He rolls his eyes and sighs incredulously. "Well I'm just going to leave  
this here, just in case..." he offers hempenly, setting the basket down  
right below me.

"I'm not going to need-"

The contents of my arms come crashing down.

Into the basket.

Damn basket.

"Why are you even helping me?" I ask brashly.

He smiles. "Well I was just here, minding my own business, ruminating over  
my bread purchase, when I saw a beautiful young lady who needed assistance. And  
being the gentleman I am, I decided I'd help her," he explains. His voice  
is so soothing and sexy, and his eyes...

"Well thank you for your help, but I think I'll be on my way now," I  
declare. For a second I'm reluctant to pick up the basket, but I swallow my pride.

The blonde guy smiles. "There you go. Don't be afraid to get what you  
need, okay hon?"

I furrow my eyebrows, for a few reasons. "Please don't call me 'hon.' And  
also, who are you to be giving me life advice in the freezer aisle of Piggly  
Wiggly at 9 o'clock at night?" I question harshly.

That stupid smile again. Soft, comforting, like ice cream that's just starting  
to melt. "Who are you to be refusing it?"

He got me there, but I don't let him know it.

"Well, whatever you reasons, thanks," I mutter quietly, less  
defensively.

"Not a problem," he assures me, "I'll let you get back to your  
shopping then."

I nod and smile like flat club soda. He tips an imaginary hat at me before  
walking away.

I go back to grab a few more things before heading to the register. As I unload  
my groceries onto the conveyer belt, I notice a little piece of paper at the  
bottom of the basket. I take it out and read it.

_Austin Moon  
Grocery Store Hero  
867-5309  
Call me if you need anything. A basket, someone to talk to, anything.  
_  
I almost have to laugh at the ridiculousness of not only the note, but the  
situation. It's funny who reaches out to you when you need saving. It's not  
always your friends, your family. It's not always yourself. Sometimes grocery  
store heroes need to come along in order for things to get better.

I re-read the note and snicker. I may have to take him up on that offer.


	2. 1:37

Empty gestures are everywhere. Especially from strangers. Promises of "if you need anything, just give me a call" exist everywhere, but sometimes aren't genuine. Yes, empty gestures are commonplace. But I have a feeling that the grocery store hero's promise wasn't one of them.

It's late. I know that. I feel it. It's almost 1:30 in the morning. But I can't stop thinking about Dallas and honestly, I just need someone to talk to.

I dial the number into my phone. After a short debate with myself, I press the call button.

One ring...

_This is such a shitty idea..._

Two rings...

_Waking this poor guy up..._

Three rings...

_At one-thirty in the morning just so I can...  
_  
"Hello?"

His voice is sleepy and groggy and kind of sexy. It occurs to me that I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

"Hi, uh, Austin? It's, uh, it's Ally, the girl from Piggly Wiggly who was too stubborn to get a basket," I begin with an unhumorous laugh.

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Ah, yes, Ally, the basket girl. How are you?" How the hell is he being so gracious at one in the morning?!

I clear my throat. "I'm, um, okay, it's just, I...I keep thinking about my ex-husband," I admit softly, almost whispering. Why the hell am I whispering? I don't share this apartment with anyone. It's not like I'm going to wake someone up.

"I see," Austin sympathizes, "how long were you married and how long have you been divorced?"

I sigh. "Married for five years, divorced for one," I reply.

"That's rough," he replies, "what do you miss about him?"

"I miss being his. I want someone to wake up to, someone to cuddle with, someone to involuntarily pop into my head when I hear a love song in a store," I answer.

He pauses for a second. "Seems like what you're feeling has nothing to do with what's-his-name-"

"Dallas-"

"-Dallas, you just miss having someone. You don't miss _him,_ you miss being married," Austin says.

I consider this for a second. "Maybe," I reply hempenly, even though I agree.

"It'll make you feel better to get a boyfriend. Not even saying a serious boyfriend that you're totally in love with. Have a fling. Hell, get a friend with benefits! Have a one-night stand! You just need some closeness right now," Austin advises.

I squint my eyes and half-smile. "Do you give life advice to every girl you meet at the grocery store? Or only certain ones?"

Austin chuckles. "No, far from it. Only very select cute, stubborn brunettes," he replies.

Involuntary smile.

"You think I'm cute?" I ask in a light, giggly voice that I don't even really mean to do.

"Ah, there we go. I call you cute and stubborn, but you focus on the 'cute' part. You have some optimism in you. There's still hope," he says.

I chuckle. "Hope for what?"

"Hope that maybe you would be open-minded enough to let a stranger take you on a date," he states coolly.

My eyes squint incredulously. "Are you asking me out at one in the morning over the phone when we've only met once?"

"Well it depends. Are you going to say yes?"

There goes that smile again.

"I guess there's no harm in one date. It'd be my first one in a while," I admit, my voice dropping involuntarily.

Austin exhales. "Well I promise I'll make it a good one. I would say dinner, but it seems we're both having late nights, so maybe lunch tomorrow? Or whatever you prefer," he offers chivalrously.

I can't even stop smiling.

I play with a lock of my hair with my free hand. "I think lunch sounds good. When would you be picking me up?" I ask.

"How's 12 hours from now?" he proposes. I glance at the clock. It's 1:37AM. I chuckle.

"1:37PM sounds perfect," I agree.

"Great," he breathes, "I'll see you at 1:37."

"Sounds good," I chuckle, "goodnight, Austin."

"Goodnight."

_Click._

And it occurs to me that we didn't really talk about my problems at all, but somehow they're solved.


	3. Catastrophically Charming

**A/N: I love you guys. **

* * *

What the hell do you wear to a date with a stranger?

I know three basic things about Austin Moon. One, he's hot as hell. Two, he's extremely outgoing. And three, he's pretty damn clever.

After walking around my closet in a towel for about half an hour, I finally decide on an outfit; it's a blue skirt, (short, but definitely not _too _short) a pink blouse, (light pink, flowy, not too heavy) and a pair of white flats (classy, bright, clean.) I add a necklace and a few rings and put my hair in a messy bun. There. Perfectly imperfect.

I'm putting the final touches on my makeup when I hear a knock at the door. I look at the clock.

It's 1:37.

_Exactly _1:37.

That man...

I run over to the door and throw it open. There stands Austin, dressed in a strategically nice-but-not-_too_-nice button down, paired with dark jeans and Converse high-tops. Looking gorgeous.

"What are you doing?" I demand brashly.

He feigns hurt. "Just trying to pick up my date to take her to lunch," he replies innocently.

"It's literally _exactly_ 1:37," I protest.

He grins devilishly. "Good, then my efforts weren't in vain."

"How the hell did you even-"

"Yes, it's great to see you too!" He shoots forward to wrap me in a tight, unexpected hug. Because he's about six inches taller than me, my face gets buried in his chest as his arms wrap around me.

But hey, I'm not complaining.

"I guess I appreciate your timeliness," I succumb. He pulls away from me and smiles genuinely.

"There you go. Now what are you in the mood for for lunch?" he asks, leaning his arm against the doorframe. Very smooth.

I shrug. "Whatever you want. I don't have a strong preference," I say.

He smiles wildly. "How does seafood sound?" he asks.

I nod. "Sure," I affirm. He grins and takes my arm. We go downstairs and out to his car, a red 1987 Toyota MR2. He opens the door for me.

"Thank you," I mutter, not as flirty as I had intended. Sigh.

He gets behind the wheel and starts the engine. I notice that the car is a stick shift, and for some reason I find that really attractive.

Hell. That guy could shit in my yard and I'd find it cute.

"So, where exactly are we going?" I ask.

He grins, eyes fixed ahead. "You'll find out. And you'll like it," he promises.

I look down and try not to smile.

I fail.

"So, Ally, my stubborn Piggly Wiggly girl...tell me about yourself," he proposes.

I chuckle. "Well first of all, I'm not _that_ stubborn. And secondly, I own a music store. I was married for five years, but I've been single for a year-"

"See? Wrong. No," he interrupts, "I ask you to tell me about yourself and you talk about work and your ex-husband. That's awful. That doesn't tell me anything. Actually, you know what that tells me? That your life is fucking terrible."

I'm shocked. My mouth hangs open in surprise. "Excuse me?" I ask, only half kidding.

He shakes his head. "Just...I want to know about your personality. What you like, what you hate, if you could have lunch with any three people alive or dead who would you choose-"

"What are you talking about?" I laugh.

He shakes his head and shrugs a little. "I guess we have different ideas about what defines a person."

I furrow my eyebrows at him. "You don't talk about normal things," I muse.

He chuckles. "Glad you noticed."

We arrive at the restaurant and he pulls up to valet park the car. I take a mental note of how fancy and classy he's being. He tips the driver, takes my arm, and leads me through a set of double doors. We go down a few stairs and end up in the main dining area.

"I've never been here before," I remark.

he smiles. "Don't worry, you'll love it," he assures me. The hostess greets him, and he returns the gesture with a charming smile. "Reservation for Moon, party of two," he says. The words just roll off his tongue. He's so effortless. And he has a _catastrophically _charming smile.

The hostess leads us into the dining area, and it's beautiful. The two outside walls are all floor-to-ceiling windows with a gorgeous view over the ocean. The dining room itself is also very classy, with white tablecloths and cobalt-colored water glasses. A little more than half of the dining room is filled, so it's not too crowded, but far from empty. Piano music plays softly.

"Thank you," Austin says to the hostess as she shows us a table perfectly situated for a view out of both windows. The hostess smiles and leaves.

"Wow," I start, "this place is really pretty." My eyes follow a sailboat out the window.

Austin puts his hand on mine and smiles. "I'm glad you like it," he says.

I look around for a second and notice that Austin almost has his back facing the windows. "Do you want to trade seats, so you have a better view?" I offer.

He chuckles and shakes his head. He kisses the back of my hand. "Believe me, I have all the view I need right here."

Does it feel a little warm in here?

"Thank you," I reply, blushing and biting my lip like a madman. He seems rather amused by this.

"You alright there?" he jokes. I shake my head and wave a dismissing hand.

"I'm fine, it's just been a while since anyone's complimented me like that," I admit with an unhumorous laugh.

"I find that hard to believe," he protests. "Maybe people do compliment you, but you just have a tendency to not believe them."

I raise a proresignation eyebrow. "That may be the case," I reply, "but I'm still terrible at dating. And talking to people."

He chuckles. "_'I'm terrible at dating,'_ says the girl on a date at a nice restaurant. You know what you are? You're the kind of person who makes up problems for herself. When you get bored you find fault in random aspects of your life, usually love."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I resent that," I state, even though I see his point.

He shoots me a look and takes a sip of water.

Okay. He has a point.

I shake my head. "Well what about you? Do you date much?" I ask.

He thinks for a second. "Not _much,_ but I don't know. I mean, I see people and talk to people, but I haven't had a real connection in a number of years," he divulges.

I respond with a doubtful look. "A number of years? Is that number, like, one-sixteenth?" I ask pointedly.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I haven't been in love since high school," he admits.

My eyebrows shoot up. "A catastrophically charming guy like yourself?"

"Wait," he laughs, "what'd you just call me?"

"Catastrophically charming," I spit playfully, my eyes narrowed and my water glass in my hand.

He chuckles. "That's a new one," he admits.

"Well it's true," I reply.

He smiles this adorable crooked smile, and it makes me feel amazing. We're quiet for a second as the waiter brings bread over.

"So," I begin, "I know you haven't been in love since high school, but you have to at least _date_, right?"

He nods. "Yeah, I guess. But 'date' is a very loose term," he replies, tearing off some bread.

"Elaborate," I request.

He smiles and shrugs. "I dunno. I take girls out sometimes, I go have drinks with friends of friends, I talk to girls in bars and stuff. But I never form a real relationship with anyone," he explains.

I frown for a second. "Is that a choice or a coincidence?" I ask.

"The not falling in love? A coincidence," he replies, picking up his water glass.

I push a lock of hair behind my ear and nod slowly, processing this.

"Do you think...that meeting me was just a coincidence?" I croak.

He puts his glass down. "No."

I can't help but read into that answer.

Just a little.


End file.
